Again
by Dominique Francon
Summary: Your typical Angela and Jordan run into each other in the future story.
1. Angela's Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

A/N: I know I tend to write on the short side. I have about five chapters planned out, so hopefully they'll be up soon. Thanks for reading!

* * *

Angela Chase's life had become rather boring. In fact, it seemed rather close to what one would assume her life would have been prior to tenth grade, when she'd started hanging out with Rayanne Graff. Her hair was even blonde again. She was twenty-five, single, and still unable to voice her thoughts eloquently, as much as she wanted to, a characteristic that oddly suited her job at a publishing company. Not having the ambition to write her own novel while being able to appreciate the genius of others had allowed her to be one of the rising stars.

No one would guess that she had once dated the resident bad boy of Liberty High, Jordan Catalano. It had started as part of her rebellious phase, when she dyed her hair red, and got a new set of friends. What had started as a fifteen-year-old girl's inappropriate relationship had blossomed over the course of about a year and a half into a steady romance. They oddly complemented each other, understanding what the other meant even when it couldn't be vocalized.

But, like all good things, that came to an end. They survived Angela going to college. Granted, she'd gone to Penn State, so they weren't exactly far apart. But the death knell had been about the last thing they expected.

_"Angela, I have some bad news."_

_Angela's mind raced. He'd cheated on her. He'd wrecked his car. He lost his job. His friends hated her. "What is it?!"_

_"Well, you know that Residue's been getting some interest, right?"_

_"Um, yeah?"_

_"Well, a record company wants to sign us."_

_"That's amazing, Jordan! How is that bad news?"_

_"Well, um, we're moving to L.A."_

_"Like, California?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"For how long?"_

_"I dunno, Angela. Forever, maybe."_

_"But, what about me?"_

_"You can come if you wanna. Drop out. Live with me. Or transfer."_

_"God, Jordan. You know I can't. I'm only 19!"_

_"Then I guess this is good-bye."_

He'd kissed her and left, and she'd never seen him again. Not in real life. She saw his pictures in magazines all the time. When she was feeling particularly masochistic, she'd read the interviews, looking for a mention of a girlfriend. He'd only had one serious one since her. It cheered her up a little to think of that.

Now she was in Chicago, on a business trip talking about restructuring the company. Currently, she stood in front of a painting at the Chicago Art Institute. Suddenly, she heard a familiar voice call out "Angela?"

She turned and met gorgeous blue eyes. "Jordan? What are you doing here?"


	2. Jordan's Prologue

Disclaimer: If I were in any way associated with "My So Called Life," Quween on the Scene would be protecting me from the pozzarassi.

A/N: I wanted to have this up a few days ago, and I can't even say real life interfered. I just wasn't feeling inspired. The following chapters will all be this length or longer.

I want to thank everyone who has read this story so far. It really means a lot to me that you took time out of your day to do that. Reading means even more to me than reviewing. But those of you who did review, subscribe, or otherwise contact me, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It means a lot that you've enjoyed it so far, and I'm touched and a bit confused that even in one short chapter, some of you see great potential in me and this story.

I am, by the way, new to the fanfic writing arena, and this is my first multi-chapter story. Thank you for bearing with me, and honest criticisms and suggestions are always welcome. On to the story!

* * *

Jordan Catalano's footsteps echoed through the gallery. He liked that sound. Residue had a day off from their tour, and he'd shocked his band mates when he announced he planned to spend the afternoon at the Art Institute.

"I didn't think you liked that stuff," Jake remarked.

"You mean, like, paintings and stuff?"

"Yeah."

"I don't really."

He left them without bothering to explain. And at this particular moment, he knew he'd been right. He didn't exactly dislike art, but he didn't come for it. He came here as a retreat. The quietness that seemed to be a necessary trait of museums allowed him to be alone with his thoughts. Much as he enjoyed the company of his band, touring wasn't exactly conducive to self-reflection. He also escaped the attention of fans. While he was a public figure and would probably be recognized by a few people there, his fan base didn't tend to frequent museums. Furthermore, his standoffishness would be expected, as all patrons withdrew into themselves.

He idly walked through the exhibits, glancing at one every now and then, and just let himself think. Hatred of interviews was the first thing he ruminated on. He gave them periodically throughout the year, and daily on tour. They always end up a disappointment for all involved. Jordan Catalano the man was quiet, always had been, and reluctant to discuss his personal life. The reporters all want Jordan Catalano the Rock Star, high energy, wordy, and charming. Even if he'd wanted to, he didn't know how to give a good interview. So, he answered their questions and nothing more, hoping the yeses and no's were enough. He rounded a corner and walked into a room. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the one thing he didn't allow himself to think about.

He walked closer and turned to get a better look. She was blonde. She'd been blonde for the last two years of their relationship, but it still seemed weird to him. She was wearing a black suit, which fit her closely. Quite a change from the attire she wore when they dated. She'd become a beautiful woman. She may have looked different, but he knew it was her. The vulnerability and insecurity rolled off of her. Maybe not everyone could see it, but he could. It was part of what he'd liked so much about her. She might look confident and successful to the passersby, but he saw the bend of the knee and fold of the arm that belied her self-image.

He hated seeing her like that, not understanding that she was special and amazing, but also knew he was partially to blame. He tried not to think about what he'd done, but the memories came unbidden. He'd been so excited when a major label had shown interest in his band, he'd jumped at the chance to make it big without really thinking it through. He'd realized shortly that it meant leaving Angela, and he'd gone to tell her. He'd wanted it to work out. Upon reflection, asking her to give up her life for him probably wasn't the best game plan, but it was what he wanted at the time. But really, what made him leave was that she didn't ask him to stay. That made him think that either she didn't really love him, or she thought they'd work it out somehow. They didn't. He never called or wrote or visited, and neither did she. But he knew it was fundamentally his fault, and regretted it every day of his life. He tried not to think of her, or their relationship, or anything related to it because he couldn't stand that he'd caused so much heartache for himself, and, he imagined, much more for her.

He considered turning around and leaving, but realized that once again, he would be running away. She deserved more than that. He deserved more than that. He steeled himself with a deep breath, and uttered the name he avoided as much as he could.

"Angela?"

The woman turned towards him, and he found himself momentarily lost in her eyes. She erased any lingering doubts as to her identity, confirming she was Angela Chase.

"Jordan? What are you doing here?"

He had no idea what he was going to do next.


	3. Chapter One: Dinner

A/N: Once again, thank you to the reviewers, readers, and subscribers. I know I may not always seem like it, but I appreciate it. I write things for an audience, not for me.

I'm also trying to post at least once a week, although I can't promise it. But telling me if I'm taking to long will probably get my butt in gear!

* * *

"Wanna get something to eat?" Jordan recovered and proposed dinner, figuring it was the least awkward way to get her to talk to him.

"Sure, I haven't had dinner yet. I mean, not that I'm assuming you want dinner or anything. And it'd be nice to catch up, I guess."

Angela had imagined this scenario in her head for over five years. Well, not this exact one, but one where she ran into him. In her fantasies, she was successful, confident, and definitely taken by a smart, gorgeous, successful man. While her career was okay, she was not the unattainable goddess that would make Jordan see the errors of her ways. And the alternate universe Angela never babbled, especially not to try to conceal the mixture of glee and apprehension she had at the possibility of spending time with him.

"Pizza okay? That's what you're supposed to get in this town, right?"

"Okay, yeah, sure, fine," Angela wasn't sure why she needed to agree four times. She attempted to salvage her dignity. "Pizza sounds great."

Angela managed to collect some semblance of her wits on the walk to the pizza parlor. "So you never told me why you were here."

"Just playing a show."

"Oh, of course. Why an art museum? I would've sworn that time in high school was the only time you'd ever step foot in one." Jordan chuckled softly.

"I guess I just wanted to be myself. Alone," Jordan decided he didn't want to elaborate further. He waited for her to point out that he wasn't alone if she was there, but she didn't. She only nodded in complete understanding. They arrived at the pizzeria and were immediately seated.

"So, you live here now or something?" Jordan inquired.

"No, no. Just on a business trip. I live in New York. New York City, that is. Although it is in the state of New York."

"Cool."

"It's way different from Three Rivers or even Pittsburg. But you live in LA, so you know what I mean," Angela started fidgeting with her hair, tucking it behind her ear and avoiding his gaze as she realized she'd admitted to keeping up with his life.

"What's going on in your life?" Jordan managed to avoid asking her if she was dating anyone. With any luck, she'd blurt it out any second now.

"Like, what's my job?"

"Yeah."

"I work for a publishing company. I know, it's not very glamorous, but I get to read a lot of cool stuff, even some stories that never get published. My bosses like me, so that's pretty nice."

"That's pretty great. What about the rest of your life, like your family and friends and stuff?" He hoped that question had come off as casual, and suspected it had. He'd always been good at hiding his emotions.

"My parents are good, although now that Danielle's off at college in Virginia, they have a bit of an empty nest. Sharon's getting married next year. Rickie's in San Francisco working at a program for gay teenagers. Last I heard, Brian was working on a PhD in Chemistry."

Jordan, though pleased she wasn't especially close to Brain, realized he would have to stop beating around the bush, and finally asked, "You seeing anyone?"

For a split second, Angela allowed herself to believe that Jordan still wanted her and was trying to ascertain if she were available. But her mind quickly flashed back to the last time she'd seen him. He'd broken her heart in her doorframe, and hadn't had to see the devastation he caused. She'd shut the door and slid down into a heap. She felt her pulse. She was alive, although she wasn't sure how. She felt like her lungs had been slashed and couldn't inflate. She could hear her breath, but she could swear the air past right through. The five minutes she spent like that on the floor before crying herself to sleep were the moments that came to define her relationship with Jordan when she chose to think of it. Not the good times, or the bad times, or the three months of daily vomiting after he left, but those few minutes when she realized exactly how important he'd been to her.

Angela mentally shook her head, and knowing that their love affair was long in the past and apparently hadn't meant nearly as much to him as it had to her, she answered his query.

"No, not at the moment. Not that I haven't had boyfriends since you, but none of them worked out either. I guess that's a good thing."

"Why?" Jordan asked, hoping it meant that she was glad she ran into him while single.

"Well, you know how I told you I was in town for a business meeting?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, they're restructuring the company. They want to give me a promotion."

"That's pretty cool, but what does that have to do with you being single?"

"Well, they want me to move to Los Angeles."

"Wait, Los Angeles, California?"

"No, Los Angeles, Nicaragua. Of course California! Do you still live there?"

Jordan's heart raced at the thought of living in the same city as Angela. He knew it was selfish and egotistical to think she might take him back after he had been such a jerk to her six years ago, but it was a step in the right direction. And even if they never rekindled their relationship, she'd been one of his best friends, and felt confident that spending time with Angela would increase his happiness, no matter what.

"Yeah, when're you moving?"

"Well, I actually haven't accepted yet, but probably in the next couple of months."

"I'll help you get settled in."

"Thanks," Angela smiled warmly at his offer.

They exchanged numbers, and spent the rest of the meal in the awkward, stilted conversation you have with people you once knew well, but haven't seen in years.


	4. Chapter Two: New Beginnings

A/N: Sorry for the delay! My sister was visiting, and then I decided to make this chapter extra long to make up for it, then I started planning out my story a little more, and had to add to this chapter a bit.

Once again, thank you for reading. It makes me smile so much whenever you review or subscribe or favorite or even just read!

* * *

The two months between Chicago and her relocation to LA moved along with that curious mixture of feeling that the time is moving too quickly and too slowly simultaneously that so often accompanies anticipation. She had agreed to take the job the day after she saw Jordan, not in order to see him, but because he had removed her only objection. She'd never felt particularly attached to New York City. Angela had found that it contained only two types of people: those who wanted to stand out and those who wanted to disappear. She'd spent her teenage years feeling invisible, and had no desire to repeat the experience. Moving to another city for a promotion and a raise actually sounded perfect to her. The only problem had been Jordan. She didn't want him to find out they were in the same city from a mutual acquaintance, but she hadn't wanted to tell him either. Although the probability was small, she feared running into him and him thinking she'd gone there for him. So, speaking with him in Chicago managed to assuage all her Jordan related fears.

It would be nice to have a friend when she got to California. Well, there was Rickie, of course, but he wouldn't really be near her. _Friends_, she thought, _we can be friends_. Sure, she'd never felt about any other man the way she had about Jordan, and she still felt the jolt of attraction when she saw him, but they weren't the same people they'd been when they split six years ago. She knew she'd matured, and it seemed he had too. The way he'd treated her then left no doubt in her mind about his feelings towards her. He never loved her as much as he loved his band. But he was willing to spend three hours with her in Chicago, so at the very least, he didn't mind spending time with her. She was willing to let bygones be bygones. Well, she was willing to not talk about bygones. He had been one of her best friends. After their first break up, they'd remained close. She liked that they could hang out without having to be physical. It confirmed that their attraction ran beneath the surface. Maybe she could once again have a deep friendship with him. She was still friends with Mark, a guy she dated in college after Jordan, so she knew she could circumnavigate any residual feelings. At any rate, she could definitely use his help apartment hunting.

* * *

Angela flopped down on her motel bed. She'd finally arrived in Los Angeles after a six-hour flight. It felt good to finally be able to move about on her own terms. The man she'd sat next to had been a bit of a chatterbox, and the silence of the room was welcome. When she finally removed the stresses of transcontinental flight from her mind, she remembered the stresses of her first love. Perhaps, she mused, she'd been overconfident those past weeks when she contemplated a burgeoning friendship between them. She remembered all the problems of being friends with him. She did all his homework for him as a desperate attempt to hang on to him. They'd been, she always forgot and had to remind herself, broken up when he slept with Rayanne, and forgiving him for something he was technically free to do had taken a long time. She didn't even really know anything about his life. She didn't know what famous people did in their free time. She probably didn't fit into his life. And ex-girlfriends were probably a drag to have around. On the other hand, he hadn't been terribly upset to see her. And when she'd mention the move to LA, he'd told her it'd be cool to see her, and given her his number and email. They'd sent a few emails in the intervening two months. She'd told him she'd be sure to connect with him. She could curse herself for her committal.

It really came down to the bandage conundrum: pull it off fast or slow. Most people favored yanking it off, but Angela had always preferred taking her time, sometimes even soaking it in water. She could put off talking to him for at least a week. If he asked why it had taken her so long, she could always blame jet lag, unpacking, and her job. She rolled over, content with her decision. However, her overactive imagination once again took hold. What if he changed his mind? What if he thought she'd changed hers? It would be so nice to lose herself in his eyes again, to hear his voice even just greeting her. She wondered if the anticipation could actually kill her. It could probably kill her career if it was all she thought about at work. _Email_, she thought, _that's a good compromise. Not too much pressure on either of us._ She opened her laptop and logged into her email.

_Hey Jordan,_

_It's Angela, obviously. Just wanted to tell you I'm in California. Write back or call if you want to hang out._

That would never do. She kept rewriting the email, but could never come up with the right words. She vaguely recalled Jordan telling her he often had that problem, and not just when he'd tried to win her back. At the time, she thought he was either being ridiculous or it was part of his reading disability. Clearly, she'd been wrong when she thought she'd been immune. She started reading the emails he'd sent, looking for some hint of how she should respond. He'd only sent four. Jordan was as inscrutable in correspondence as he was in person. Every email was short, to the point, responses to her queries. Clearly, Plan B wasn't working either.

Hesitantly, she'd grabbed her phone and called his number. _Please don't let him answer! I don't know what to say to him! But then I'll get his voicemail, and I'll probably ramble and he won't know what I'm trying to say, God, I'll barely know, and he'll never want to see me. I could just hang up. But then why don't I want him to answer?_ Just as she was about to hang up, she heard a familiar voice say, "Yeah?"

"Jordan? It's Angela."

"Oh, hey. What's going on?

"Not much. Um, I was just calling to say I got here. So, you know, if you, like, want to hang out or something sometime. But if you're busy or something, I totally understand."

"Nah, it sounds cool. You free tomorrow?"

"Well, I have to go to work in the morning, but I can do stuff after that. Hey, would you mind helping me find an apartment?"

"Sure, I'll help. See you soon."

* * *

The next afternoon, they started looking at apartments. It felt less awkward than trying to make small talk. They soon found it was a great way to reacquaint with each other. She learned about the extent and effect of his fame ("Omigod! You're Jordan Catalano!" "My daughter loves you!" "Hey, you're that guy in that one band, aren't you?" "Don't think you're getting special treatment 'cause you're in some stupid popular band." "You look familiar." "Who are you?") He learned she could be business-like("Don't you think $2000 a month is a bit steep?" "What' the noise level here?" "What do you think are the best benefits of this neighborhood?") They realized he still knew a lot about her ("Ange, check out this kitchen!" "Hey, the bedroom has morning light!" "This part of town isn't the kinda thing you like.") Most importantly, they found out that they easily fell into a comfortable companionship. One owner referred to Jordan as her boyfriend, and they laughed it off. In that moment, she knew they'd be friends.

Two weeks later, she'd moved into her new apartment. She invited Jordan and the rest of Residue over for a housewarming dinner she made. Cooking was always more fun with an audience. She'd invited the rest of the guys after Jordan had goaded her into it. "C'mon, Angela, you were friends with them. They want to see you. And I spent so much time with you finding a place that you owe them dinner." The conversation had been good, the food delicious, and she'd realized that she actually had missed them. The party had died down, and everyone but Jordan had left. She sat on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand and her feet on Jordan's lap.

"I'm really loving everything about my job. I even have my own office! And right now, I'm working on this guy, Thomas Peterson's, second novel. His first book did okay, but everyone thinks he has the potential to be really popular if his book is good and we promote it right. We said we'd publish it without even getting a prospectus, 'cause if he's a hit, we could make tons of money. People are buying fewer books these days. I get the first draft in a week. That's so exciting! I get to read it before the general public, and might even get to make suggestions to improve it. It'd be almost like I'd be writing a bestseller! Oh, and I haven't told you about my boss. Her name's Marla, and she's perfect. Seriously. The only thing not amazing about her is her name. She's so nice, and smart, and beautiful, and friendly. I bet her husband's really hot. And she always calls me Angie. Everyone else who ever called me that made me want to slap them, but I love it when she says it. I wish I could be her."

Jordan watched Angela as she somewhat tipsily discussed her job with a huge smile on her face. She was happy. Over the years, Jordan had met many sides of Angela. Happy Angela was his favorite. He couldn't think of anything else to do but smile at her.

* * *

Angela walked somewhat nervously to the conference room. She was about to go into the first meeting about Thomas Peterson's book. It would just be her, Thomas, Marla, Marla's boss John, and George and Andy, two other guys at the company. She'd be the most junior one there. She was afraid of making a fool of herself, and more afraid of not saying the things that needed to be said. While this novel flopping wouldn't exactly harm her career, its success would definitely help. Unfortunately, the draft she'd read was not a bestseller.

After everyone had been introduced, they sat down to begin the discussion. John asked Angela first. She knew it was because she was the bottom of the totem pole in the room. If she said something dumb, the rest of them would be able to convince him otherwise, and if she didn't go first, they might run out of time and lose him. She took a deep breath, and started to choose her words.

"I thought it was okay. It definitely wasn't terrible. Some parts of it are really, really good. But a lot of it is lackluster. And the thing is, I know you can do better. Your other novel definitely had the markings of a genius author diamond in the rough, and your story has the potential to be brilliant. But as it is currently, it's mediocre." There, she'd said it. Now, she just had to wait for their inevitable laughter to subside.

"I agree completely," Andy chimed in. Angela was amazed to see all her colleagues nodding in agreement.

"The real problem," George opined, "is the rock star character. He's so cliché and wooden and doesn't have a personality a reader can connect with."

Marla concurred. "The hard-partying, womanizing rocker who only does it because his heart is broken? You're phoning it in, and it hurts the entire novel. I would suggest that you cut him entirely, but it's important that the other characters have this celebrity they idolize that brings them together. Maybe you should write about a field a little more familiar to you."

"Would it help if you could talk to some rock stars? Like, would that help you write someone more human, more accessible?" Angela asked.

"I guess. But I don't think I could ever get to see a personal side of one. They only give interviews in which they let you see the side of them they want the public to know."

"You know that band Residue?"

"Yeah, sure, everyone does. But they rarely give interviews. Jordan Catalano is notorious for not saying much of a personal nature on the occasions they do. So, even if it would help me, I'm not going to get that opportunity."

"I'm pretty sure he'd do it as a favor for me."


	5. Chapter Three: The Interview

Disclaimer: I'm not rich, thus I do not own it.

A/N: I wanted to have this up a long time ago, but I had two very busy weeks. Then it took me a bit to get back into the mood to write. Once again, thanks for all your reviews, etc. This is shorter than I envisioned, but because it had been so long, I decided to divide this chapter. On the bright side, the next one should not take as long.

As an aside, if you are attempting to accuse me of having "almost unreadable grammar," it would behoove you to take your own advice and proof your own review and make sure you do not make a glaring grammar mistake.

* * *

Thomas approached the house. He had been rather taken aback when the publishers had announced to him that not only would he be able to interview Residue for his novel, but the interview would occur at Jordan Catalano's house. From the musician's reputation, he doubted any member of the media had been there before. He took a moment to survey the outside of the residence. It wasn't what he'd expected. It was certainly big, but not fancy in the least. The lawn was maintained well, but sported only a smattering of trees adorning the grass and flowering bushes lining the edge of the property. He supposed it befitted a man not entirely comfortable with his fame.

As he walked up to the plain door, he heard voices floating through an open window and stopped to listen. He knew he shouldn't. He was there as a guest, and they were doing him a huge favor. He could claim it was human nature, meant as a defense mechanism. He could say it was a hazard of being a novelist and necessary to writing his characters believably. But, honestly, he just really loved eavesdropping, and had all his life, and thus he stood on the porch to hear the words he was not privy to.

"So, you and Ange are back together?" a male voice inquired.

"Nah, man, it's not like that. We're just friends. I'm helpin' her out is all," Thomas thought that voice belonged to Jordan Catalano, although he hadn't heard his voice enough times to be sure.

"You guys have been spending a lot of time together. I mean, some days we barely see you!"

"There's really nothing going on! And spending time with her is sometimes better than spending time with you, Shane," Possibly Jordan replied.

"Just remember, dating exes is almost never a good thing. Just remember me and Amanda," a third voice chimed in.

"Although I wouldn't blame you. She's turned into a total fox!" The first voice, Shane, he supposed.

Thomas heard some laughter and decided to ring the doorbell before he heard anything that would make his book meetings unbelievably awkward. The door was answered by an attractive, if not particularly well-dressed man, whose eyes somehow seemed intensely focused on him and far away at the same time. Thomas recognized him immediately as Jordan. The singer's full lips parted and asked, "You the writer?"

Thomas wasn't quite sure how to respond. He wasn't sure he was even supposed to. He marveled in awe at this ability to leave him speechless, even though he was sometimes regarded as a bit of a chatterbox. It dawned on him that the notoriously bad interviews were not so much that Jordan didn't answer their questions as it was that he put them at unease, unable to ask the questions to see beneath his surface. Thomas simply nodded, which clearly was enough to admit him entrance to the house. He followed Jordan to a living room in which the décor had clearly been dictated by need rather than any sort of aesthetic. Two couches faced each other, each in a slightly different shade of navy blue. Judging from the throw pillows, the two off-white arm chairs at not quite forty-five degree angles had been purchased as a set with one of the couches. A low, dark wood rectangular coffee table sat between the couches, and on it sat a bag of tortilla chips, some magazines, and a book, the title which Thomas didn't recognize. Three men sprawled on the couches, taking up more room than they need. He introduced himself as he settled into one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs.

He realized he had little idea of how to proceed. He knew he had to get a feel for their lives, but had no idea what questions would get him there. From what he hear and had perceived in the past moments, the standard "Tell me about yourselves" would not get him the answers he needed. Finally, he decided that he had to go the direct approach. "How much do you party?" he opened with.

There was a brief pause, whether from the forthrightness of the question, or because they were mulling the answers Thomas could not ascertain. Finally, the drummer, Jake, spoke up. "I almost never party."

His response seemed to be what was needed. Thomas, who had a habit of narrating his life experiences as metaphors, couldn't figure out whether to say that his response was the straw that broke the camel's back or an ice breaker. He decided it was water flowing over the bridge, with his band mates following suit.

"Well, that's just 'cause you're married! Teresa won't let you out!" Shane exclaimed.

"Hey, if I had a wife and kids like his, I wouldn't want to go out either," Jonathan commented.

"Maybe I'm whipped, but I love Teresa and our girls. Spending time with them is way better than going to parties," Jake explained.

"What about the rest of you?" Thomas asked, scribbling in a Moleskin notebook.

"I'll be the first to admit that I'm the biggest partier of the band," Shane informed him, "but I'm not a 'new chick every night' kind of guy. I just like cutting loose a couple times a week. I have a 'no sleeping with groupies' policy, so that eliminates a lot of the one night stands, but not all of them."

"I'm not quite as casual as Shane. I generally have girlfriends, but when I don't, I accompany Shane, and have my share of girls," John said.

"Jordan?" Thomas especially wanted to know his perspective.

"I used to do it a ton in high school. I guess I was a rebel. Without a cause," he laughed hollowly, as if he or the reference or the movie were one big joke. Thomas didn't quite know what to make of it. "I got held back. Twice. And then I met a girl. That's how it always is, isn't it? She was the good girl, dating the guy from the wrong side of the tracks, just like a movie. She was so innocent. One of her friends once called her 'so innocent she doesn't know she's innocent' or something like that. Anyways, she helped me kick the partying habit. She wasn't into parties or drugs, and when we were dating, I couldn't really do it. I got used to it, saw the appeal. And when we broke up, I really didn't feel like partying anymore. I just got in relationships. But only one since her has been serious. An aspiring actress, Brooke. We were together two years. But we weren't in love with each other, so we broke up. To answer your question, no, I don't party."

Thomas was shocked at Jordan's candor. He had gotten the answer he had asked for. He asked some more questions, hoping for some more insight, but he didn't know exactly what he wanted. He accepted an invite to a party. He wanted to partake in the action, see how rock stars acted in social activities. But, most importantly, he couldn't shake his feeling that Angela Chase, one of his publishers, the one who had arranged the interview, was the girl that Jordan Catalano spoke of with such longing, and such abject desperation.


End file.
